


Am I going to attempt to process my own SA/rape history through writing non-con? Yes, yes I am. LucioxApprentice

by howTHEFUCKdoyouspellrefigerator



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Rape, evil lucio, i may be wondering if I have an interest in noncon, non-con, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howTHEFUCKdoyouspellrefigerator/pseuds/howTHEFUCKdoyouspellrefigerator
Summary: A man who has gained—and kept—as much power as the Count is never told no. If he wants something, he will take it. A struggle just makes the victory so much sweeter. (I literally have no idea what I am doing, or the ethics of it, but I am in a weird place after a day of thinking too much about my own history with such events and how it may have related to my current sexual interests.) NO MINORS. TW RAPE.
Relationships: Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), Lucio (The Arcana)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Am I going to attempt to process my own SA/rape history through writing non-con? Yes, yes I am. LucioxApprentice

AGAIN: TW ASSUALT/RAPE. NON-CON. NO MINORS. GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE.  
I literally do not know what I am doing but for the sake of brevity we're going to call it processing my own trauma 

bye I literally just realized I switched from "you" to "me" halfway through fml it's two am I'm not fixing this 

Vesuvia sure knows how to throw a good fete. The music is sublime; the guests, both domestic and foreign, are unparalleled in their fame and influence; and the atmosphere is rich, golden, and perfectly hedonistic. The evening's in full swing now, and you smile as you watch your friends on the dance floor. You were just out there a moment ago, but begged off this current dance, claiming thirst. And you are thirsty. Dancing, flirting, and generally being rowdy is sweaty work. You turn towards the edges of the room, looking for an attendant with refreshments. At this point in the night, with your head already pleasantly dizzy, you'd better ask if they have something non-alcoholic.....  
"A glass of wine?"  
You turn, and quickly lower into an obstinance for his Esteemed Highness, Count Lucio, Ruler of Vesuvia, Champion of Maintaining His Throne, Even Under Strange and Magical Circumstances.  
"Rise."  
You do so, and he kisses your hand with his free one. The most powerful person in Vesuvia, kissing your hand! Speaking to you! Giddily, you hope your friends can see. You dial back your incredulous smile as the Count rises and hands you the glass.  
"Thank you, Your Highness."  
"Oh, it's entirely my pleasure. Take a turn around my gardens with me?"  
How could you refuse?

Lucio is charming. He is handsome. He is a perfect gentleman, an engaging conversationalist, and even without his position, the kind of charismatic person who you hope notices you. You've set your wineglass down long ago, back at the fountain with the gardenia bushes...or was it at the bridge? You're happily intoxicated. The garden surroundings, the drone of other people, seem to fade the longer Lucio's warm arm is in yours. As he argues against your opinions on a piece of obscure literature, you have no trouble understanding why he remains in power. 

You're having trouble hearing, almost like how you would before passing out. "Your Highness," you say over the ringing in your skull, "I think I might need to sit a moment. We've walked an awfully long way," you laugh.  
"Oh there's no need. We're almost there." He grips your arm tightly, attempting to support you as you two pass a perfectly serviceable bench. You turn your head, trying to see the palace behind you. You stopped being able to hear the revelry some time ago, and now you can hardly see the massive edifice. Twisting your neck worsens the ringing, and the already-dim gardens seem to dim further. You turn back ahead, to see a small stone building. Its architecture isn't well suited to a garden — it's more of a full enclosure than a greenhouse and gazebo. Thick, dull, stone; and there's not any visible windows.  
"What is this? Some disused hermitage?"  
Lucio chuckles. "Something like that." He opens the door for you and you enter, too strangely weary and unsteady on your feet to complain. Gods, you haven't been this inebriated in...a long time.  
"Your Highness, this place has rather...spartan furnishings. I was hoping for a setee to rest on." Lucio shuts the door and lights some candles, set in recesses in the walls.  
"Yes, I don't doubt you were." He sighs. "Unfortunately for you, I am not overly fond of soft things."  
You laugh, and sink to the dirt floor. "What a queer thing to say, Your Highness."  
He turns to face you, hands clasped behind his back. He looks awfully military, standing like that, and with his tailored white dress uniform. "Stand."  
"Huh?" The change in his voice, in his face, is so palpable that you're too confused to remember his honorific.  
"Stand. And address me properly." Baffled, you rise unsteadily. He relaxes back into his beautiful grin. He really is an attractive man, albeit a confusing one. It's too back you're both married — not that that would be an obstacle for most nobles, but consorting with one ruler is an act of treason against the other....  
An uncomfortable thought crosses your mind. The location, his solicitous nature, his sudden coldness now that you're far from all the other guests... No, he wouldn't. Still. You shift a half step back, aware of the sudden absence of easy conversation.  
"I want something from you."  
"Your Highness?" He crosses the little room towards you, the scanty candlelight casting his sharp jaw and pointed eyes into harsh shadows.  
"I don't waste my time with foolish people. Don't pretend that you are one."  
"Is there some way that I can serve Your Highness?" I curse myself for my wording. I can see it now, being used against me in a court, accusing me of soliciting the Count. I'm going to be hanged for treason. Where the Devil are the rest of the partiers? He smiles and steps towards me again. I step back. I am decidedly wary of this dance, but my mind is muddled. If it wasn't, I would have noticed our long trek and remote location sooner. But I didn't, and I am too drunk and too drugged from his wine now to outrun a man who, though also drunk, is known for his military ability.  
"Do you know what power is?" He asks, eyebrows raised. Another step further for him, another step back for me, and I lurch as my hair brushes against the cold stone wall. He's uncomfortably close to me, close in a way that I can't brush off as anything other than intentional.  
"Anyone in this palace." He says, answering his own question. "I could have anyone in this palace, regardless of their gender, their status, their spouse. That's what power is. It's not over money, not over land, it's over people." He won't stop looking directly into my eyes. I try to look away, and I see the stiff imprint of his cock against his stark white pants. Oh, Gods. Help me.  
Again he steps forward, but this time I can't mirror his movement. He's close enough now that the stiff fabric of his cape brushes against my hand, and it makes me inwardly shudder. "Excuse me, Your Highness." I manage. "If I could just get past you..." He grins, huffing in an abbreviated laugh, and I can smell the liquor on his breath. He steps forward again, and even though it was just a step, it feels like a forceful collision as his body brushes mine. Inhaling sharply, I turn my head to the side, refusing to let our faces touch like every other line of the body. He lazily lays a golden, metal forearm on the stone next to my face. Pinned. Pinned in, pinned down.  
"Your Highness, I don't....I don't want...this..."  
"Immaterial."  
"It's rape, then!"  
"They say every sin comes with a price," he says, almost in a whisper. "But what price is there that I can't afford to pay?"  
I try to speak, to scream, and choke. There's no point. There's no one around, I realize, stomach sinking.  
I scream anyway. "Help! Help! Someone, help me!"  
Lucio doesn't try to stop me. He doesn't clamp a gloved hand down over my mouth like you'd might expect. He just stands there, like a patient father with a petulant child, waiting. The echoes of my last screams slowly fade, and strain my ears though I may, there are no answering calls, no running footsteps. Of course. Lucio is nothing if not clever. Now that I've stopped shouting, there's no sound but the thick buzzing of alcohol in my head. If anything, it's worsening, and I'm almost thankful for the support of the wall at my back.  
Lucio reaches his other hand down between us, and I hear the rustle of fabric as he undoes his trousers.  
"On your knees."  
"No," I whisper.  
He slaps me, hard across the face with his metal hand, and I crash drunkenly to the dirt floor, my vision temporarily waning. It returns as his footsteps are approaching me, and I look at his boots an inch from my face.  
"You will address me as, 'Your Highness'." It's a metal voice, to match his metal arm. He is not a man to laugh and chat with a lowly courtier in the garden. He is a man to command legions, to win a throne, to hold the Court and the nation in a golden fist.  
"On your knees." His voice isn't even malicious, it's just void. There's not even any anger or excitement behind it. I get on my knees.  
He grabs my jaw, metal fingers pinching coldly into my cheeks. He makes me look at him, looming above me. One last time, I try to refuse, keeping my mouth shut as he guides his hips towards me. He forces my mouth open and before I can try to scream, he shoves himself in. I'm immobile, too shocked and numb to bite down or back away. Lucio has no problem with my lack of action. His hand finds the back of my head, and he creates a motion for the both of us, growing harder in my mouth. Spittle drips down my lips and the length of his cock every time he pulls back from my mouth. With each thrust, he's pushing me harder and harder, and I rise up, my thighs tense, as I try to accommodate his dick. He jams my head forward further, and I gag. I hear him grunt in satisfaction, and I hope maybe this torture will be enough for him.  
I'm not that lucky. He keeps pushing, and I keep gagging, until I finally break free from his restraining hand and fall to the side. I'm on my hands, trying not to puke, and I hear him moving behind me. I freeze, and I feel my face fold, as he pulls my fine robe up over my hips. With a knee he knocks my lower legs apart, making room for himself behind me. I hear him spit, and then he's touching me. I can't say whether I'm wet because of my own biological response or solely because of his saliva. I don't want to know. He works me slowly, gentlemanly even now, starting on the very edges of where my thighs meet and gently circling his way inwards. When he does add more pressure, it's sudden and unexpected, and I gasp. He chuckles, a low, animal kind of sound, and skillfully uses his fingers with even more force. My hips are bowing open, an instinctive and uncontrollable reaction to the endorphins and hormones flooding my system, despite the conflicting emotions in my brain.  
"Are you ready, then?" He asks, his voice low.  
"Yes...yes, Your Highness," I whisper, hanging my head. He shuffles closer to me, and I feel his golden hand on my hip. His other hand is otherwise occupied, but not for long — it grabs down on my hip in the same millisecond that he enters me. He sighs, contented. I am trapped between three warring sensations: the coldness of his hand on my one hip, the warmth of his hand on the other, and the simultaneously familiar and foreign feeling of his dick at the entrance. Then he starts to move. I cry out, "Oh!" a kind of gasp and grunt as the pain manifests at the center of my body. He breathes heavier, enjoying my cry. I am thankful, now, for the dulling of my mind from the wine and drug. I wish that I could be entirely gone; that I could be completely insensible to his cock inside of me. He rocks his hips and pulls mine, sliding us back and forth together in the most brutal and yet human motion possible. He's big, bigger than I can handle, and so his every thrust is paired with my breathy gasp. I can hear him, breathing behind me, occasionally gasping too.  
He speeds up, and even biting my lip can't keep me from moaning, sharp and high, each time his cock moves more and more against me. He breaths out, "fuck, yeah. You're so hot when you're doing that." He slaps my ass, and then moves his metal hand . A half second later, I can feel it brushing my hair to the side, off of my neck, so that his hand can wrap around. It's cold, against the sweat that has gathered on the nape of my neck, matching the sweat in the backs of my knees as he fucks me on the ground like a dog.  
"Gods," he gasps, putting pressure on the side of my neck, gears whirring gently in my ears. I match his gasp, but it comes out as more of a moan through his hand around the throat. He's still pounding me with punishing force, one hand almost on my stomach as he tries to pull me closer to the base of his dick. "Fuckkkk," he groans, speeding up further. I mewl around his golden hand. "Uuhhh....your, your....highness..." I pant. "Ahhh!" He cries out, hard, pinching down on my neck and bucking his hips further against my ass as he freezes. "Ahhhh...." I feel him shudder against me, his hand drifting to squeeze my nipple as he comes. Suddenly it's like I can hear again, the noise of sex and the fog of drunkenness slightly lifted. I realize where I am and what just happens, and I hang my head, trying not to cry with shame and pain as he draws back. Slowly, painfully, I shuffle to my feet and pull my garments straight. He's cleaning himself up, getting dressed again. Getting ready to go and rejoin his party, like he didn't just have his way with me. He doesn't try to stop me as I turn and leave. 

this is literally the first time I have ever written sex and this is the type of encounter I pick? Girl I better tell my therapist about this. anyways yeah I've never done smut before I know it is bad I just don't know how to convey the different types of moans through text :(((((( please tell me how to improve/fic requests 

If u are reading this I love u have a nice night


End file.
